Rogelia's House of Magic (4 page)

Fern didn’t reply. What could she say? Respect for her elders had been drilled into Fern every day since her birth, like the importance of breathing. It wasn’t something she could explain. Besides, something had caught Fern’s eye: a Mexican
talavera
tile stuck to one of the shelves with a picture of the earth and the saying
LOVE YOUR MOTHER
.

Fern sighed pensively. “I wish everyone loved Mother Earth the way I do.” Fern couldn’t wait to register as part of the Green Party. She attended every local rally, supporting causes like stopping deforestation in South America, protesting illegal exhumation of local Indian skeletons, and planting indigenous herbs as a steward on the Bolsa Chica wetlands. It was her dream to be arrested for forming a human chain around a beached whale or for handcuffing herself to a bulldozer threatening to turn up the remains of an ancient civilization.

“That’s not what the tile means,” Marina said, pushing aside cans of soup in a desperate attempt to find something. “She’s not so much into me loving Mother Earth as she is into drilling the idea into my head: love your mother. No matter what she does. No matter what she says. Love your mother. Let me repeat: love your mother. I’d say it’s a Latina thing, but it could be cuz she’s crazy.”

A full minute later the door at the end of the hall opened, and Rogelia shuffled to the kitchen carrying two empty mugs. She placed the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Rogelia, do you know where the chocolate chips are?” Marina asked.

Rogelia walked to the pantry and grabbed the bag of chocolate chips, seemingly out of thin air, from a shelf directly in front of Marina. She handed the bag to her with a terse smile.

“How could I have not seen that?” Marina asked, dumbstruck.

Rogelia turned to face Fern. In a serious voice she said, “Fernanda, you are right to protect nature. It is very important that you never lose that passion.” Rogelia nodded sternly, gave a wink, then shuffled back to her room. Marina and Fern looked at each other in shocked silence.

“How did she know I said anything about nature?” Fern asked. “She was still in her room.”

“I have no idea,” Marina said as she led the way back down the hall. “But it was totally bizarre.”

“Maybe Rogelia can read minds,” Fern said in a flabbergasted whisper as she followed Marina into her bedroom.

Four

X
ochitl peeked through the crack of her nana’s open bedroom door, which was connected to the Peraltas’ house by the hall. Xochitl found if she looked though the doorway just right, she could catch a glimpse of Marina’s bedroom door. She watched Fern and Marina disappear into their room. Then she silently closed the door with a sigh.

“Las muchachas son muy amigables,”
Nana said.

“I’m sure they are very friendly, Nana.” Xochitl sighed, resting her forehead on the door.

“Marina y Fern que te serán buenas amigas,”
Nana pressed on.

Xochitl turned around and stared at Nana in exasperation. She clenched her teeth and squared her jaw. “I don’t need friends.”

Xochitl walked across the bedroom, batting at one of the many bunches of chamomile hanging upside down from the ceiling. Small white flowers with tiny yellow centers fluttered to the ground. Xochitl sat on the bed and gazed at the displays of her nana’s impervious faith: wooden crosses, a statue of St. Jude, the flaming Sacred Heart, and images of Mary, both as the mother of Jesus and as La Virgen de Guadalupe with her hands in prayer. Several candles burned on the window ledge. Copal incense billowed out from a thurible.

How did she do it? Xochitl wanted to know. How did Nana hold on to her faith, her saints, in a time like this?

“Everyone needs friends,
mi’jita,
” Nana said as she knelt at her altar. “Who else is going to tell you when you have spinach stuck between your teeth?”

“That is so gross, Nana.”

“It’s true.” Nana moved a crystal cluster to the back of the altar and pulled forward a dead monarch butterfly whose wings had closed. “
Ven aqui.
Come here,
mi amor,
” she said sweetly, but there was no denying the resolution in her dark brown eyes.

Xochitl shook her head. Nana was a good yet predictable woman. Xochitl could tell she was itching to give one of her little pep talks. Xochitl was not in the mood. She turned her head away, but everywhere she looked reminded her of Mexico and Graciela, and how lonely she was without her. Her eyes fell upon a vibrant rainbow-colored Huichol weaving her uncle Guillermo had made and Nana had somehow managed to hold on to despite the accident. Xochitl lowered her eyes and smoothed out the quilt. Why did her nana bring that thing?

“
Ai Díos,
must you resist everything?” Nana moaned as she stood up, her old knees crackling like a log full of sap in a fire. She padded over to the bed, sat down next to Xochitl, and held out her hand, holding the orange-and-black butterfly.

Xochitl shuddered. “Is that the butterfly you found, after the, the…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“After the accident, yes.” Nana placed her arm around Xochitl’s shoulders. “Do you remember what butterfly medicine represents?”

Xochitl shook her head. She didn’t really care for any of Nana’s teachings anymore. What good was it to be a
curandera
and have magical powers if you couldn’t stop bad things from happening, like a family member dying right in front of you? Nana placed the butterfly in Xochitl’s hand. “In the teachings of our people, butterflies represent transformation. When I was younger than you, my grandmother took me out to the fields to watch the chrysalis transform into this beautiful winged creature. This animal totem will help you make the transition from sadness to happiness.”

“Can’t you just whip up some remedy to bring Graciela back?” Xochitl begged. She folded her long legs beneath her.

“You know I can’t do that,” Nana said gently. “I work with nature, not against it.”

Nana picked up a wide, flat-handled boar’s-hair brush and tenderly pulled it through Xochitl’s waist-length hair. Xochitl’s shoulders tensed and her fingers flinched, nearly crushing the butterfly. This nightly ritual was something she used to do with Graciela. They had taken turns brushing long strokes through each other’s hair. She didn’t want Nana to do it now, but she couldn’t seem to stop her.

Xochitl looked over at the bedside table, where dried lupine flowers from the accident scene lay next to a picture of her and Graciela standing in the river that ran behind their town.

“What about making a special concoction to make Graciela’s spirit visit?” Xochitl asked.

“We can only invite spirits to come. There is no magic that can pluck Graciela from wherever she is and make her do our will,” Nana said as she swept the brush through Xochitl’s hair again.

“I tried to speak with Graciela at the Santa Ana River earlier today, but nothing happened,” Xochitl admitted.

“Graciela will come to you when the time is right,” Nana said wisely.

“When?” Xochitl croaked over the lump in her throat. The tears had swelled in her eyes.

“¿Quien sabe?”
Nana answered. “Who knows?”

Xochitl’s shoulders slouched in defeat while Nana kept brushing. Xochitl closed her eyes and remembered how Graciela had plaited her hair into two long braids before they got into the truck that would take them to their father and America, the Land of the Free.

“I know it is hard, but you can’t stay sad forever. Graciela wouldn’t want that. You must be strong for her,” Nana persisted.

“I can’t,” Xochitl mumbled.

“Yes, you can. It’s in your blood. When the Spanish conquered the Aztec people—your people, our people—the Aztecs kept their faith. Through the Spanish Virgin Mary and Aztec Tonanztin, a prophecy was given that the power of the people would return. From the combination of these two Great Mothers, La Virgen de Guadalupe brought hope when she first appeared with the miraculous fragrant red Castilian roses at her feet.”

Nana patted Xochitl so hard on the back of the shoulder that Xochitl lurched forward. “
‘Xochitlcheztal’
means ‘where the flowers bloom’ in the Aztec language. Your name is special and has deep meaning.”

“I know, I know.” Xochitl dismissed her nana with an impatient wave of her hand.

“Don’t ever forget the long line of wise women you come from, Xochitl. We passed the lessons of
curanderismo
for generations. I learned from my grandmother. My grandmother was taught by her grandmother, who was taught by her grandmother, and so on, all the way to the ancient Aztec healers.” Nana smiled widely, revealing a missing tooth toward the back of her mouth.

“You’re always telling me stories like that,” Xochitl countered.

“And I’ll tell you as many times as I like until my teeth fall out,” Nana retorted.

“They already are,” Xochitl pointed out. “You’d better be careful before you only have gums to chew with.”

Nana turned Xochitl so that they faced each other. Nana searched Xochitl’s face and held her granddaughter’s wavering gaze.

“I’m not interested in ancient history, Nana. I just want my sister back,” Xochitl said sadly.

“I know,
mi’jita.
” Nana squeezed Xochitl’s hand. “I wish Graciela were here, too. But…
al vivo la hogaza y al muerto, la mortaja.
We must live by the living, not by the dead.”

Not another
dicho, Xochitl thought wearily. She wished she could shout at Nana and tell her to stop lecturing. But she didn’t dare. Nana was kind but tough, and would not tolerate any disrespect.

“You have been given life, you must live. To do that properly, you must engage.” Nana patted Xochitl’s chest like she was trying to wake up her heart, but Xochitl could only sigh. “Now quiet down, I am going to pray for you to find friends.”

“Nana,” Xochitl protested. She pulled Nana’s arm to keep her from performing her ritual, but her grandmother easily broke her grip and marched to the altar.

Nana pulled out another votive candle, placed it in the center of the altar, and lit it. Xochitl watched the bright flame flicker. The
curandera
sprinkled more of the pale yellow copal resin onto the burning charcoal. The heavy, musky scent of deep magic filled the room. The air felt charged with electricity, like during a storm.

Up until three months ago, Xochitl believed in Nana’s powers and her ability to defend, protect, and heal. But the loss of Graciela put a dark shadow over everything Nana had taught Xochitl. Even so, when Nana began to meditate, Xochitl closed her eyes and concentrated hard on becoming weightless. Within seconds, her skin felt flushed and her body felt like it was floating. Xochitl wasn’t sure what to do now that she was invisible, but as long as she stayed this way, at least Nana wouldn’t be able to see the look of doubt on her face.

Five

M
arina leaned back against the footboard of her queen-sized four-poster bed and stared at the circle of candles and popcorn. She had to admire Fern’s ingenuity. It really looked like a ritual was going to take place.

“What do we do first?” Marina nibbled nervously on the cuticle of her index finger.

Fern pulled Marina’s finger out of her mouth. “Stop that.”

“Well, what if the store owner in Moonlight Midwifery was wrong, and casting spells isn’t at all the same as prayer? What if a bolt of lightning strikes us from above?” Marina glanced at the ceiling as if she expected shards of electric light to burst through any minute.

Fern burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding! How did you get so much guilt?”

“The Catholic religion,” Marina said resolutely.

“But you’re not Catholic,” Fern said.

“I know that,” Marina retorted. “But I’m the first generation in my family to not be raised in ‘
the
religion,’ as Grandpy would say. I think I got Catholic guilt through osmosis.”

Fern stared at Marina in disbelief. “So does your brain ever turn off? I mean, how do you come up with these ideas?”

“Do you think it’s possible to pass guilt like some defective gene?” Marina insisted as she toyed with the hem of her kelly green Pink sweats.

“Maybe in your case,” Fern said. “Not to mention a case of insanity and runaway anxiety. When will you ever learn to trust me?”

“When you say something sensible.” Marina poked Fern on the shoulder. “How is any of this going to work? We don’t know what we’re doing.”

Sitting cross-legged, Fern teetered side to side. “I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll cast a circle and lead the meditation. Then we raise a Cone of Power, call in the quarters, welcome Spirit, and do the spell. That’s probably when we make the god’s eyes. Then we eat,” she added lovingly, patting the bag of caramel popcorn. “Lastly, we lower the Cone of Power, give thanks, say farewell to the quarters, and erase the circle.”

“How do you know so much?” Marina was awestruck at the command Fern had over this project. She herself was never that dedicated or passionate about…anything.

“What do you think I was doing all day? I studied the book,” Fern replied as she struck a match to relight the candles.

There was no stopping Fern now.
And anyway,
thought Marina,
it’s high time I did something without worrying about every inch of it.

Fern stood up. With a straight arm and extended index and middle fingers, she slowly turned, drawing the circle around the room. “I now cast this circle for magic. Let this space become a world between heaven and earth.”

Marina closed her eyes. She felt a jolt in her stomach, and her heart leapt to her throat. Chills chased each other up her arms.

“Imagine your body is the trunk of a tree with branches reaching to the sky and roots pushing down through the earth,” Fern read, speaking in a trancelike monotone.

Marina wondered if it mattered what kind of tree. She thought of the massive five-hundred-year-old oak tree in Irvine Park. When they were kids, she and Fern had hugged the tree from opposite sides and hadn’t even come close to touching each other’s fingertips. The more she concentrated on being an oak tree, which seemed solid and strong to her, the more she could feel her feet stretch into roots that grew and grew through the layers of earth. Her arms became waving branches that extended through the heavens to wrap around a single star of an intricate constellation. She liked being a tree. It made her feel like no one could push her around.

“Okay,” Fern whispered. “It’s time to welcome the four quarters.”

“What’s a quarter?” Marina asked dreamily.

“Quarters represent the directions; you know, like east, west. And you need to face each direction as you welcome it.”

After they took turns welcoming the four directions, Father Sky, and Mother Earth, Marina grabbed two Popsicle sticks. “I feel all tingly.”

“I know,” Fern agreed. “Okay, the book says to make an equilateral cross with the Popsicle sticks and glue them together at the center.” After completing the first task, they cut several long strands of yarn. Following the directions, Fern showed Marina how to weave the yarn over the top of the first stick, then under the next stick. “Now we concentrate on receiving a magical power while we work,” Fern said. “It’s like when Native Americans say prayers as they make dream catchers.”

Marina wove together shades of blue until she had completed a perfect diamond-shaped god’s eye.

“Next we need to bury them in the earth and bless them by saying, ‘Sun above, whose gift of light is given to me, I ask for your blessings of a magical power. This I make true, three times three, times three,’” Fern announced.

“Why three?” Marina asked.

“Three must be a magic number. You know, like ‘third time’s a charm’?”

“Maybe we should make three god’s eyes?” Marina suggested.

“Okay,” Fern agreed.

When they finished, Marina slipped into her sandals to go outside. Fern was barefoot, as usual. They collected the three god’s eyes and their food, then stole down the hallway and through the immaculate kitchen. As they traipsed through the den, Marina stared at the oval sepia picture of her maternal grandmother and wondered what that mysterious woman would have thought of this ritual. Marina had never known her nana, who had died one month before Marina was born. Everyone in the family said Marina’s birth was a blessing, which for someone like Marina translated into a lot of pressure to be successful and accomplished.

In this sepia photograph, Nana was four, and she looked like an angel with her tranquil expression and velvety smooth face. Marina had come to think of her nana as a legend, more surreal and imaginary than a real person. The exact same picture of Nana was on display at Marina’s home, and in the homes of her aunt Carmen and Grandpy. Her mother spoke in reverential tones about Nana and her prestigious Spanish bloodline. On the other hand, no one ever spoke of Grandpy’s poor family from Mexico.

Marina tore her eyes from her nana’s photograph and quietly opened one of the French doors to the backyard. Behind the lush foliage and large rocks bordering the pool, she and Fern found a patch of dirt in a spot farthest from the house. The full moon had traveled past the zenith, the highest point in the sky, and crept silently toward the western horizon. The moonlight illuminated Fern and Marina as they dug into the earth.

“We should have brought shovels,” Marina whined as she surveyed a broken fingernail with regret. “And look how dirty our feet are getting. I just had a pedicure!”

“You are such a princess, Marina,” Fern said. “Would you concentrate, please? If you don’t, it won’t work.”

“Fine,” Marina mumbled, taking one last glance at her toes.

They placed their creations side by side in the hole. Marina marveled at their handiwork. Together they chanted three times: “Sun above, whose gift of light is given to me, I ask for your blessings of a magical power. This I make true, three times three, times three.”

Satisfied, they covered the three god’s eyes with dirt and patted it down. Fern tore into the popcorn and crunched loudly. Marina cracked open a soda and gulped it down. She belched loudly and smiled when Fern made a face.

“That’s revolting,” Fern reproached.

I’m no princess,
Marina thought rebelliously as she gave an untroubled shrug. “So when do you think we’ll get our powers?” she asked eagerly.

Fern leaned back and stared up at the indigo sky speckled with stars. “Dunno. I guess it depends on whether or not the stars are listening.”

Marina looked up to the heavens. She concentrated with all her might on the brightest star she could find. Combined with the stars around it, it looked like the tip of a goat’s tail. Marina focused all her energy on that star. With a steady gaze, she sent her wish for a magical power, and the star seemed to wink back at her. “I think they are,” Marina said.

“Hope so.” Fern yawned. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. Magic makes you tired.”

Marina nodded to the star as if she was confirming their contract. “Okay,” she said to Fern and the star simultaneously. Marina placed a couple of twigs over the dirt mound that concealed their creations. She got up, shook the dirt off her sweats, and led the way back into the house.

Marina checked the stairwell to her mother and stepfather’s bedroom suite to be sure they were both snoring and hadn’t woken. All was safe. She and Fern crept down the hallway to Marina’s bedroom. After changing into her nightgown, Marina crawled into her bed and snuggled under the covers.

“Good night, Fern,” she whispered.

“Night,” Fern said as she settled onto the trundle bed next to Marina.

Soon they fell fast asleep, completely forgetting to close the portal to the world of magic.

An hour or so later, Marina tossed and turned, lost in a place between consciousness and deep REM sleep. She moaned, quietly at first, but within minutes she began to hyperventilate.

Fern woke up and blinked several times, looking around groggily. “Marina?” she whispered.

“There are imps in the orange trees,” Marina mumbled in a raspy voice. She tossed her head back and forth, as if she was spotting these magical creatures in a dense wood before her.

“What?” Fern asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“They were put there on purpose,” Marina continued. Her voice became clearer, not so hoarse. “They agreed to come to this dark place. They say I can help. I don’t think I can. I like orange trees, though. Yes, I do.” She began to talk faster. “My favorite orange crates were the ones from Sunkist, where I used to work. Glad I don’t have to pack them anymore. I used to get caught in the spiderwebs.” Marina tried to sit up, her eyes still closed.

“Marina, are you okay?” Fern sat up in bed, concern creasing her forehead.

“They lost the land, but the markings are still on Thomas Guide maps.” Marina kept talking to no one in particular. “You can still find a few orange groves here and there.” Then her voice became lighter, more girlish.
“Me gusta oler las flores del naranjo,”
she said.

“You like the smell of orange blossoms?” Fern repeated, bewildered. “Hey, when did you start sleep-talking in Spanish?”

“Hace mucho frio aquí,”
Marina began to shiver.

“What are you talking about? It’s not cold. It’s probably seventy-five degrees,” Fern said in a worried voice. “Wake up, Marina, this isn’t funny anymore.” She reached out and touched Marina’s right shoulder.

Marina jerked Fern’s hand off, panicking. “
¿Donde está el sol?”

“The sun set hours ago. Marina, you’re scaring me. Stop this.” Fern jumped onto Marina’s bed and straddled her friend. She grabbed Marina by the shoulders and shook her hard. “Marina, wake up!”

Marina started trembling violently. Her hand fluttered to her forehead. Panic gripped her heart. She screamed, “Stop them, please! Stop them! Here they come again! Ahhh!”

Rogelia burst into the room with her shawl slung haphazardly over her shoulders. Xochitl entered the room at her nana’s heels.

“She’s babbling in Spanish and doesn’t even speak the language!” Fern yelled.

With closed eyes, Marina mumbled incoherently while she rocked back and forth. A cold terror filled her entire body. Rogelia shook Marina by the shoulders. “Wake up, Marina. Come back to us.” She turned to Xochitl. Marina shook her head and began to whimper. “Xochitl, get the chamomile and the rattle. And water!”

Xochitl gave her nana a skeptical look before darting out of the room.

Rogelia caressed Marina’s forehead and hair. “
Está bien.
You’re going to be okay.”

Voices clashed in Marina’s head, like people were yelling at her, vying for her attention. She shook all over. Her toes felt like icicles.

Xochitl quickly returned to the bedroom with a handful of chamomile, a rattle, and a bowl of water, which she gave to Rogelia.

Rogelia placed the bowl under Marina’s bed. She shook the rattle over Marina, broke off dried chamomile flowers, and rubbed them behind Marina’s ears, on her temples, and across her forehead. Rogelia sang incomprehensible yet soothing words as she gently stroked Marina’s hair. She worked on Marina for five tense minutes.

The tingly heat emanating from Rogelia’s hand sent warmth spreading throughout Marina. Finally, Marina’s breathing returned to normal. Her trembling gradually subsided. She took a shaky breath. She was going to be okay. She tentatively opened her eyes and looked around. She was safe in her room, and thankfully nobody was talking in her head.

What the hell was that?

“Thank you,” Marina whispered, and pulled her pink and green comforter up to her chest.

“You’ll be all right now.” Rogelia stroked Marina’s hair. “Go to sleep.
Buena suerte.
Have good dreams.”

Rogelia and Xochitl left the room and closed the door behind them.

“What happened?” Marina asked Fern, her head throbbing a little.

“You spoke in Spanish,” Fern said incredulously.

“I did?” Marina could only vaguely remember voices in her head. Voices that were not her own. Was she going crazy?